


Rosemary

by Niimarie



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: After seventy years on ice you're practically a virgin again, Awkward Boners, Boy's hurting, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Post-Credits Scene, Explicit Language, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Like So Wrong, M/M, Mentions of T'Challa and Shuri, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Recovery, Transformative fiction, because Endgame did them wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 10:16:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18849028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niimarie/pseuds/Niimarie
Summary: The pressure felt foreign, like it didn’t fit at all with a body like his. A machine, a far cry from the old Bucky.





	Rosemary

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever attempt at explicit smut as well as my first take on Stucky. Lots of firsts here. Can't believe this spilled out, but hope you might enjoy it. It's meant to remain a one-shot, but who knows what the future holds. 
> 
> Any Kudos are much appreciated!

The air in the room was stifling. The higher than comfortable percentage of carbon dioxide was a side effect, a cheap price to pay, even though the ventilation system here could have taken care of that in no time. Air conditioning turned off, windows shut, Door locked. Bucky had insisted on those conditions after the first night. Wakanda, for all its sun-drenched, scorching embrace during day-time, cooled down as soon as the sun went down to linger at a temperature most people would prefer to the equatorial heat. Nights here carried soft breezes soothing to any visitor overwhelmed by the African sun. Carried coolness and the scents of spicy herbs and lush forests and grassy planes.

The air was so clean here, so crystal clear that it made his head go dizzy at times.  

It had become too much. Disoriented after another streak of horrors, his senses had not reacted well to the intense mixture. No scents. No change in temperature. Bucky hadn’t been willing to try his luck a second time. He’d just started getting better at this – establishing a routine, a regularity in his sleeping patterns, instead of pushing himself and going on until exhaustion made him collapse – but then along came Zemo and meddled with all the hard earned progress he’d made over the span of two years.

So when he awoke with a jump from the usual concoction his mind unfalteringly feed him with in his dreams – of screams (his own?) and grinding metal and things he resolutely refused to delve into – it was with the all too familiar lick of ice on his skin. Only this time the call to claw his way out and run didn’t last long enough as to force him up.

Funny. Even now, free and far out of reach from his handlers, his subconscious craved a cage. Needed it to keep his head from succumbing to another panic attack. Locked and secured. Nothing out and nothing in. Was this his life now? Fear of anything that gave even an infinitesimal impression of freedom?

Bucky had thought that Wakanda would be easier to handle than Siberia, or Austria or North America. Far away from the ice, the needle pricks as each water molecule turned to crystal. No cryoprotectants for someone whose cells couldn’t collapse after thawing. Not necessary. Waste of funds and equipment. Not a feeling he could ever shake off, the coat of ice creeping up, the most vivid memory of all.

Yet here he was. Offered the chance of recovery, of ridding himself of Hydra’s last shackles. At the price of going back under.

King T’Challa owed him nothing. Neither did the princess or any member of her lab staff. Not that Bucky fooled himself into ever believing they were doing it for his miserable sake. Without Steve, the young king would not have hesitated to extract his revenge from his father’s possible assassin. Bucky wouldn’t blame him if T’Challa ever changed his mind. No one would. Not when faced with the body count, the red on his ledger. Would be a public service by this point.

Enhanced human super-soldier or not, he knew damn well that he was entrusting them with his life, together with the last brittle remains of his sanity, though none of them deserved his pessimism. Least of all Princess Shuri, who treated him with the same blasé attitude as she did her own brother, the only one around too busy being fascinated by the challenge of fixing Bucky Barnes’ brains to be tip-toeing around the Winter Soldier. Brilliant far beyond her years. The more time he spent around her the easier it somehow felt to recall his pre-war self, the way he used to talk to people he was comfortable with, just as easy with words as she. Would she hold it against him, he wondered, if she knew that part of him still counted her as a threat, still calculated the fastest means of escape every time he entered her lab? He found he didn’t want to know the answer to that.

He shifted to align his spine into a more comfortable position, aware of the pressure building in his lower back, but the movement brought something else to his attention. Weight on his middle, the weight of a hand heavy in sleep.

Steve.

Of course. He chuckled softly, mindful not to wake the lumbering pile of muscle and worry to his right. Steve was the only one who could handle Bucky when panic made his blood boil and his eyes see red. And not surprisingly, he was also the only one who always managed to get through the blind haze until Bucky remembered again where he was. He could recall the calm circles just above his belly button that had guided him to sleep after the first set of night horrors earlier the same evening. Steve had told him how Bucky’s ma used to do this when he’d been a kid. No better cure against restlessness than the Barnes Belly Rub.

Apparently Bucky had later used it to calm Steve after an asthma attack or a coughing fit, back during the time they’d been crammed into a tiny hole of an apartment, just the two of them.

Bucky had no idea how long it had worked for him this time but judging by the slight uptake of light quality he guessed they had perhaps another hour before sunrise, forty-five minutes minimum. Meaning he’d likely been out for a mind-blowing _three hours_.

Despite that he rarely managed longer than ninety minutes at a time these days, and that purely physically speaking his body could easily maintain high function with less than eight hours per week for a short period of time, he felt the effects of chronic stress and sleep deprivation down to his bones. It dragged him down, anchored him to the mattress like a useless sack of potatoes.

All because of some words scribbled into a little red book.

So…

Perhaps he had lack of sleep to blame for his body’s reaction to that warm hand still spread across his stomach. Or perhaps it was due to its difference to any other kind of touch he’d experienced over the last seventy odd years. Not set out to hurt, to harm or analyze, to take apart and put together again. Just to be there and ground him to reality.

Whatever it was, Bucky was more than happy to blame it for the ache in his groin.

Couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt it, only that it was a sensation the old Bucky had known how to deal with much better than he did now. The pressure felt foreign, like it didn’t fit at all with a body like his. A machine, a far cry from the old Bucky.

Something, not quite memory yet, told him this was supposed to be a pleasant feeling, that he’d once chased it with exhilarating expertise. The taste of lipstick wax, the whiff of flowery perfume. Release.

A glance to his side reassured him that Steve was still asleep. God, if he knew… Panic began to tighten Bucky’s chest, closing around his windpipe when an attempt to shuffle further away only resulted in the other man pressing himself against the length of him, hand firm against Bucky’s abdomen. Every single one of the five fingers a source of electricity.

He had no clue what to do, mind racing without plan or destination. Just a normal bodily function, a voice in his head reasoned, whilst a darker instinct tried to coax him into leaning into the touch.

Car seat leather and silky skirts. Whiskey and cigarette smoke chaffing at the back of his tongue.

No faces, just the feel of hands (soft, little things that never quite felt right), the sound of laughter, and whispered nothings and…

Truth was, Bucky was unable to move either back or forth.

He didn’t know. Only knew that he couldn’t breathe. If he moved a little, if Steve’s hand went down any further…

“Steve,” he forced out through his teeth.

“What?” The other man came to with a start, voice measured despite the circumstances. Experience had quickly taught him by now to always be prepared for Bucky’s violent reactions upon awakening. Like Bucky’s, Steve’s had remained a soldier’s sleep. Light. Easy to shake off when needed.

Evidently, Bucky calling his name had him more concerned than the usual thrashing and blind punches.

“You-“ he couldn’t form the words, so much aware of the points where Steve’s body came into contact with his that it hurt. The hand, that damned hand still so close to his… it sent his head swimming.

“Buck, what is it?” Steve’s voice grew more worried when Bucky didn’t seem at all keen on giving an explanation. That change of tone into something so familiar finally shook him into action and Bucky snapped up into a sitting position of the side of the bed. The sudden movement took Steve by surprise, and he had no time to retract before his hand brushed against a hardness that was more than explanation enough in itself.

“Oh.”

The minute contact caused Bucky to gasp for air before burying his face in his hand. Shame. And exhaustion. What a mess he had become. Maybe if he stayed like this for a bit, feet against the floor, the heat would ebb away enough to allow him a few more hours of sleep. Honestly, Barnes, get a _grip_!

Behind him he could hear the faint stroke of fingers through hair. The scent of the expensive shampoo their bathroom had been stocked with tickled his nose briefly, notes of rosemary and something citrusy. Not unpleasant.

Bucky tried to focus on the scent. His ma had often used rosemary in her cooking. It didn’t help.

“Hey”, Steve said softly. Safe for his hand, he hadn’t moved at all. “It’s okay.”

“Shut up.” It came out with his exhale, a little harsher than Bucky had indented, but for the moment he had to pray that Steve’d get the hint and back off without taking offence. Wasn’t like Bucky could explain to his best friend what was happening to him or why it was happening. Whoever experienced a mental breakdown because of a hard-on?

The mattress shifted with the change of weight as Steve sat up, still wisely refraining from touching Bucky.

“You know,” he spoke lightly, as if all this was about was a change in weather, “nothing a cold shower won’t cure.” Trying to diffuse the awkwardness, Bucky knew. Hadn’t that been _his_ job once upon a time? His mind froze when he made sense of the words.

Bucky’s fingers dug into the mattress. Not happening. “No cold showers.”

Yellowed tiles. Hands dragging. Latex gloves. Couldn’t call it showers, not really, but the bare minimum to keep him clean enough for mission adequacy had left a permanent memory of the icy water’s pressure bite on his skin. Couldn’t tell how he’d gotten any of the scars during missions, and frankly couldn’t care less, but even the thought of cold water, cold _anything_ , made his jaws lock.

“Shhh, it’s okay, pal. No cold showers.”

“No cold showers,” Bucky repeated again, lightheaded by the rapid drain of focus the sudden peak of adrenaline had caused. As it gradually ebbed away and let go of his sinews and muscles, the centre point of pressure, he was disappointed to discover, was still his groin.

Christ.

Bucky let out a frustrated sound, dangerously close to a whine. His fingers rubbed furiously at the space between his eyebrows.

For a moment there was only their breathing, Steve’s calm and efficient where Bucky’s was practically a jumbled mess forced into a poor semblance of a rhythm. If Bucky’s senses weren’t so acute, it might have been possible to ignore the other presence only inches away. As it was, mission training and experience alone ensured that no sound or movement, no matter how small, ever escaped his attention.

Which meant that every fiber of his anatomy stiffened at the quiet shuffle of fabric and the further shift of the mattress when Steve came to sit right behind him. Even more so when Steve’s hands crept up to Bucky’s shoulders, feathery touch against hyper-sensitive skin.

“Bucky, relax. Nothing to be ashamed of here.”

“S’like I’m a boy again.” Against his will a laugh escaped Bucky’s throat, humorless and defeated, because why goddamn not, right? He didn’t recognize his own voice.

“Is it something they did to you? I mean in Romania or before…haven’t you ever…?” Steve’s voice stumbled several times over that question, higher that its usual timbre. Even without turning Bucky knew that his friend’s cheeks were most likely tinged deepest crimson. If it weren’t for his own embarrassment, he would have laughed at Steve’s. Man, this was a train wreck.

_That_ was an awful joke.

Even worse for doing nothing to distract him. Puns and jokes he could do all day, no matter how bad or tasteless, but Steve’s fingers at the top of his spine…that he couldn’t.

He drew in a sharp breath before responding. “Didn’t think I still could.” His hand waved weakly at the rest of that thought. “Wasn’t exactly part of their requirements.”

Hadn’t been top on his list of priorities either. Truth is he’d had so much done to him in-between the phases of cryostasis while his head had been turned to mush, including  being pumped full with all kinds of performance drugs and preventative medications, that Bucky wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d chemically castrated him too. Or maybe they had and the effects had worn off now. And chosen this precise moment to hit him full force.

The mere idea of touch had either paralyzed or repulsed him for so long that he still had trouble imagining a time when it had been such a normal aspect of life. Not always welcome, but normal, and manageable and sometimes even pleasurable.

And yes, damn yes, when Steve moved even closer until his chest almost brushed against Bucky’s back and his hands moved down his back, his waist, his hips, it was _pleasurable_.

Even so Bucky shuddered into a more defensive stance, back straight as a ramrod. Panic spread once more around his chest. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t intend for it to come out so breathless.

Perhaps if not for that small detail, Steve would have let go. But as Bucky’s own voice gave him away he didn’t. Only paused a second before letting his hands move again, closer to the front line of Bucky’s pants.

“Maybe I can-“, he started.

“Don’t be silly, Steve.”

“Just trying to help, pal.” Steve breathed out, in a tone that made Bucky shiver though there was nothing remotely seductive about it. Just Steve making the ludicrous sound reasonable. “Let me help you if I can.”

Always so fucking considerate. Whatever Bucky wanted to fire back got stuck in the back of his throat when Steve’s hand dipped into his pants and the heat of skin against skin had him moan like a fucking virgin.

“God.”

“Relax.” Steve’s hot breath against his ear, the side of his neck. Bucky could smell the shampoo again as it invaded his mind, making sure that nothing could take his attention away from his friend’s administrations. Fucking Rosemary. Made his mouth water. “I got you.”

The stroke of careful fingers against his length turned all of Bucky’s thoughts formless. Nothing was there, except the rolling heat between his legs and Steve’s voice. His hips bucked clumsily as he tried to get even more, come even closer to that flaming bright center he somehow knew was waiting for him at the end, though he couldn’t really remember what it felt like. Perhaps after decades his body had forgotten it too, because there was no other explanation to come up for his sudden helplessness or the way this felt so new, so _good_.

“Steve, I-“

“I got you, Buck.” Steve rested his head against Bucky’s shoulder and that together with a few more strokes from his hand was all it took for Bucky’s touch-deprived self to bite down hard on his tongue as his world exploded in searing white light.

“Fuck,” he murmured as he recovered from the daze. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. The weight of what had just happened loomed ever closer, but for a moment Bucky chose to ignore it, clinging instead to the balmy warmth that encapsulated his limbs and left his mind fuzzy.

Another memory came to him as he fought for air in the dark. A new one. Or not? “Have we done this before?” Bucky heard himself asking between laboring breaths. He was sure it was a memory and not a hallucination. Or a dream. If so, then an old one, but the more he tried to grasp for it the more it dissolved before his eyes.

Steve was still behind him, moving to his side before getting to his feet. Bucky checked himself from looking up to meet his gaze, not at all sure he could yet. Not after what’d just transpired between them. But something about the way in which Steve fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt instead of answering caused him to stare up incredulously.

“We have?”

Steve responded with a hitch to his tone Bucky didn’t fail to notice. “No. I’m positive I’d remember that.”

So it had been a dream then. Or more likely that Bucky was indeed losing his mind. Sunrise was still far away but the early stirrings of light were probably enough to betray his flushed face, because Steve shook his head smiling. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” His voice had reverted back to the kind of parental coaxing that he’d been sure he’d heard dozens of times from Sarah Rogers but never from her son. Not before Siberia, at least.

Bucky hadn’t noticed the stickiness on his pants and lower abdomen until then. And then something inside of him realized just how ridiculous this whole situation really was. The laughter that escaped his lips sounded strange to his ears, not at all like what he’d been used from himself lately. How long had it been since he’d actually laughed out loud? “Wow. I’ve really reached a new low point tonight, haven’t I.”

“Nope, always been a loser, Buck.” Steve scoffed, but Bucky could tell by the twitch of his mouth that Steve more relaxed as well when they entered the bathroom.

“Thanks, pal.” The grins they exchanged hadn’t changed at all. Frozen in time like an item from the Smithsonian’s exhibition.

Steve offered him one of the soft towels and Bucky held it under the sink until it was soaked enough before stepping out of his sweatpants and underpants, both of which were ruined for the night. He’d be damned if any of the palace staff got a glimpse of those stains.

Beside him he noticed Steve washing his hands and the realization that until that moment his cum had been on Steve’s hands caused a funny shudder to run down Bucky’s spine.

“Never thought I’d reach the age were my carer would have to help me because I wet my pants.”

“That all I am to you now, your carer?” Steve shot him a devilish smirk.

“Not all.”Bucky chuckled. His chest constricted with something else, _I don’t know if I’m worth all this_ , but at the same time he couldn’t keep his thoughts from spilling out all at once. “But if it wasn’t for you, Steve… Who knows? Not sure if I’d ever thought of running again if it wasn’t for you on that helicarrier.”

He had the faintest itch that this wasn’t perhaps the kind of conversation that should be delved into when he was half-naked in a bathroom trying to rub off the worst of his humiliation off his underwear.

Bucky let his thoughts linger over the question over which he’d prefer. Every little aspect of every day had become a matter of life and death, it seemed. If life meant floating in limbo between wipes, cryostasis and missions, then he didn’t want it. But without all that, even if it meant running from safe-house to safe-house for the rest of it, he’d realized that his sense of self-preservation was stubbornly high.

But it wasn’t really his decision to make, was it. He’d never wanted any of this mess Zola and his friends had forced upon him. And although he had somehow fooled himself for a time into believing that there might be some hope yet of true freedom, Zemo had quickly disproven his delusions. No more than a machine, running on protocols and orders and programming. The last couple years had been stand-by mode. Turn on the switch and it was all back.

Maybe he should just accept that putting him in cryo was the only way. At least until they’d figured how to erase those protocols permanently.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Next to him Steve stood completely motionless, hands gripping the sink’s rim. His eyes were shut tight. “Don’t.” Visibly forcing himself to breathe through his nose.

“Why not?” he bit back whatever else was at the tip of his tongue. Not that he wished to get an answer. Steve was even less keen on that part of Shuri’s proposed treatment than Bucky. Right now, anything added to the subject by either of them would be said in anger, fuelled by emotions neither of them knew how to contain.

The best strategy would be to shut up about it until Steve had to leave in a couple more days. Setting out to fix some of the mess they’d created. Stark passed his mind and he felt himself recoil mentally at the man’s pain.

The darkness of Steve’s thoughts was all too easily decipherable from the way he stood all hunched up as if the sink was his only support. Bucky could have punched himself for upsetting Steve so much. Could have punched Steve too for putting himself in the crossfire and turning rogue for his sake.  Instead he set down the towel and turned to look directly at him, forcing Steve to meet his gaze with his hand against the back of his head. “Hey, listen. I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m here now. With you till the end of the line, remember?”

That only forced a stiff nod from Steve, but then something inside of him gave in and his shoulders relaxed. His right hand flew up to burry itself in Bucky’s hair and their foreheads touched. And for a moment that was all they needed. To feel each other’s presence and breathe, the demons temporarily silenced.

One front. United. Like they used to be.

Besides, someone had to make sure Steve’s righteousness didn’t get him killed sooner rather than later.

Bucky grinned, feeling as if yet some more weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “You’re stuck with me now.” His eyes shifted to the small heap of clothing he’d left next to the sink, still sticky and messy despite his best one-handed efforts.

All Steve did was push him away with an exasperated roll of his eyes. “Not funny. You should still take a hot shower, though. It’ll help you relax. Or do you need help with that too?”

Bucky snorted out a huff of air. He wasn’t _that_ helpless. “Think I can still throw a good punch with my one arm. Might strike some respect for your elders into you yet.”

Steve laughed. “Little guy like you?” He stepped closer again, back straight, gaze trained straight down his nose at Bucky, all forties’ charm and sunshine. Although Bucky had to admit that their three inch height difference had never nagged him so much as it did in that moment. Once more the taste of rosemary scratched at the edges of his consciousness. Looking back up, something dropped deep inside his stomach.

“Stay.”

Steve blinked. “What did you say?”

The air inside the bathroom was heavy. Because Bucky only just realized what he’d said. He had no idea where that had come from.

“I mean- I… You must be thinking I’m crazy.” He exhaled slowly. And then something clicked. “Just….”

“Signature smolder failing you, Barnes?” Steve shot him a crooked smile, the jape of his words softened by the warmth with which he regarded Bucky.

Bucky let a frown form on his brow. Trying to hide the way he had to swallow hard. “I used to be better at this, I think.”

Steve shrugged. “Not really.”

When exactly the space between them had changed Bucky couldn’t tell. The shift was indescribable, just beyond his grasp.

And it still should have been no effort at all to slap his friend on the shoulder and let him catch a couple of hours more sleep. God knew Steve deserved it more than he did.

“Steve. Stay.”

He slid a little closer, eyes trained on Steve’s face. So familiar and so strange. Older, younger, sadder, happier. Same eyes, blue as the summer sky over New York.

He wondered if Steve found traces of the Bucky he’d known when staring back at him like he was in that instant. Sure, bone structure was the same. The color of his hair and irises.

Not enough, he thought.

“You sure?” Steve had leaned down a little further, not nearly close enough for their noses to touch, his expression neither inviting nor dismissive. Expectant perhaps. Hesitant.

Sure of what? Not sure himself what this meant, what his proposition (plea, really) actually entailed. Not sure what this would do to their friendship either, the only thing Bucky had left in this world.

“Yeah.”

To his surprise, it was Steve who closed the last remaining distance between their mouths. It started slow, the careful exploration of new terrain. Uncharted territory. Bucky thought about how odd it felt to have another set of lips moving ever so gently against his own. Odd, yet it sent a series of thrills shooting up and down Bucky’s spine.

But then he remembered that even though he hadn’t done this in a very, very long time and that kissing Steve, his scent, his taste, the feel of his body against his, was new and different and unprecedented, kissing was something he used to be really _good_ at. And thankfully, as pieces of memories finally started to fill in the blanks, Bucky grew more confident.

He let his tongue dance forward until Steve opened his lips to let him in. Seeking better purchase, Bucky snaked his arm over Steve’s shoulder. His hands came to rest on Bucky’s waist, pulling him in a little closer still.

God, why had they never done this before? Bucky worked his tongue harder against Steve’s, who in turn pulled at his hair, allowing his hands to roam through it and down Bucky’s back. No surprise that heat was once more pooling into his center and the realization made him suck Steve’s lower lip between his teeth.

The moan that escaped Steve’s throat then made him grin in victory.

Bucky led his hand up to trace the man’s cheek and the sharp line of his jaw before lowering it again onto his collar bone. Then he broke the kiss off to explore the same path with his mouth, sucking hard at Steve’s jaw, all the way down his throat before soothing the sensitive spots with his tongue. Steve’s skin was red everywhere his stubble had scraped against, flush and hot and soft.

But nothing better than the little sounds Steve was making throughout, short nails trailing down delicious paths down Bucky’s back and right biceps.

Not enough. Bucky tried to make for the hem of Steve’s shirt, but his plan hadn’t been as well thought through as he might have liked.

Luckily Steve seemed to catch on pretty quickly as to his intentions, taking it off himself with a fluidity of movement that made Bucky lick his lips.

“See, that’s where two hands come in handy.” Steve let the garment fall to the ground, eyes dark and filled with something that tugged at the base of Bucky’s cock, before getting rid of Bucky’s shirt too in the same unceremonious way.

“Don’t need hands when I got you to undress me, punk.” Bucky let his mouth clash once more against Steve’s, no longer holding back. Neither did Steve. They couldn’t break each other. Not like this, when every one of their movements was so perfectly synched.  As easy as breathing. Easier.

And there was no ignoring the hardness pressing against Bucky now, not when Steve was pulling him closer, flush against him and Bucky was pushing back with equal fervor. Sweat had long started to form between them and make each brush of skin all the more delicious.

His hand caught the top of Steve’s pants, only two more layers of stupid fabric separating them. He could swear he was seeing stars.

“Shower?” Bucky asked, or rather growled when Steve started worrying his earlobe with his teeth and the sensation made goose bumps spread all across his body.

For the fraction of a moment he waited with a twinge of panic for any sign that Steve didn’t want this after all. But there was none. Only Steve’s nod as he helped Bucky get rid of the remainder of his clothes. “Might as well.”

After his small apartment in Bucharest, a rabbit hole would have counted as luxurious. But Bucky found himself forming a funny appreciation for the Wakandan royal palace’s feature of roomy, modern shower cabins as part of their guest quarters. They stumbled into the refuge of glass and what appeared to be solid bedrock, though last time Bucky had checked they were still inside a skyscraper hundreds of feet above ground.

As soon they were inside and the water started running, Steve pushed Bucky against the wall of rock. His moan was stifled by Steve’s mouth before it could escape the space between them and his hand went down to grab what he could of Steve’s ass That in turn forced a gasp from both of them when the tips of their lengths brushed against one another.

“You feel so good, Steve.” Bucky drawled. Breathing was hard, but the hot water made it oh so easy to roll his hips leisurely in search of the right kind of friction, stunned by how Steve was responding to him. Red mouth swollen and open, too distracted to continue kissing.

Rivulets racing over his face, down his chest and lower still. The sight of him made Bucky swallow back thoughts far too dangerous to be spoken out loud.

“Missed you, Steve,” he let out instead in a strangled half-whine that seemed to be setting his theme for that night. Bucky buried his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, hips rocking harder and quivering with pleasure.

“Missed you too, Buck.” Steve shuddered underneath his hands despite the water’s high temperature. “God, You don’t know how much I missed you.”

Bucky moaned at those words, at what the way they tore at his seams. He turned them both around, pressing Steve against the wall before taking both of their cocks into his fist. No sound had ever excited him more than that of their mingled moans, louder with each of his strokes.

Another kiss, this time harsher, sloppier.  And then Steve cupping both sides of his head, bringing forehead against forehead.

“Buck, I’m-“

“I got you,” Bucky said, brows quirking at the chance to offer Steve’s own words from earlier back to him. Totally seeing stars by now. His hand closed tighter, moving even faster up and down their lengths. “Cum for me, Stevie.”

He did. Beautifully. All tightly shut eyes and open mouth. Bucky didn’t need more than the sight of him coming undone to follow a couple of strokes behind.

They kept holding unto each other for support even after their racing hearts had settled, limbs so heavy either of them would have crumbled to the ground if it weren’t for the other. The hot water continued to run over their heads, creating a cocoon of steam inside the shower cabin.

“Fuck.” If it weren’t for the growing soreness in his legs, Bucky wouldn’t have minded staying like this forever. “Shouldn’t have done this standing up.”

Beneath his hand he could feel the vibrations of Steve’s laugh. “Wasn’t exactly thinking back there.”

His hand still clutching Steve’s hip, Bucky didn’t feel like letting go just yet. Keep out the world a little longer.

Steve let out a deep breath. “This was…”

Unexpected.

Reckless.

“Good?” Bucky offered before biting his own tongue, meeting blue eyes in case he might catch the shadows of regret in them.

“Yeah,” Steve only whispered back. His hands brushed aside Bucky’s long hair, wet strands sticking to the corners of his eyes. “Good.”

Bucky kissed him again, this time without any hurry in the world, heart jumping as Steve kissed back with sated contentment. If they’d been in bed he’d probably drift off to sleep.

It took some time until he could form another clear thought in his head, and by then he was long back under cotton sheets, the steady rise and fall of Steve’s chest beneath his hand and the scent of rosemary in his nose.


End file.
